I am speaking to you from the end of time.
Or, more specifically, from the end of time up until this point. I haven't posted here in a while. To be quite honest, I rarely go here anymore. But that's fine in the end. Few were watching, fewer still will see, and eventually that inevitable silence will embrace this place.
But for now, this is still here isn't it?
With that in mind, I figure I should say something at least vaguely interesting. I've continued to draw. More than I ever used to at this point. And I stream while doing it. And I still write. I believe that some of the best work I've ever written was written on stream.
If I were to tell myself that I would still be here this many years later, I'd've cast doubt. I never quite had a penchant for art, after all. I'm far more suited to writing. And, to tell the truth - I actually have published works at this point.
It's fascinating to think about almost as easily as it is disappointing.
Because, in the end, all of my stories were just me trying to give life to an image I could not draw. A story that I wanted to show, but the images I could manifest failed to contain the wonder I felt. Concepts and feelings that should have been shown - but for my ineptitude, I could only tell.
Writing was only ever a substitute to me, whether I admitted it or not.
It was just a means to an end, even if the ends only barely justified the means. After all, I couldn't draw nearly so well enough to depict what I saw. That realm of artistry was forever beyond my reach. It was all I could do to stop thinking about it and do what I always did best - which was write. When in doubt, write. When frustrated, write.
But recently I got past it.
At the moment, I'm drawing a ninety page comic, and I've planned out a pretend opening sequence for a comic that I really love. I've already drawn a forty page comic, and several 4-11 page pieces. I've figured out how to manifest my writing as the imagery - if only basically so, and I keep dreaming of the day that I'll finally be able to turn around to the stories I've written before and be able to tell them "Let's give this another shot."
Hapless, embarrassing attempts at drawing - but made valuable by the stories I fight to impart upon those pieces. A practice session filled with pain and agony - for how badly I wanted to erase those flawed creations -
Only to hesitate as I saw a story take form just before the eraser touched base.
I am speaking to you from the end of time.
I have taken hold of a realm I thought that I could never reach. My writing - and now my artistry - have come together in the way that I never believed could have ever happened. And yet it has. And while everything still hurts - both from the frustration that stems from my lack of ability, and from the regret of the fact that I took so long to start -
I cannot wait to see the end result of these desperate efforts.